


Part of the Game

by ShepardCommander



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-19 07:12:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShepardCommander/pseuds/ShepardCommander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oh, he was going to kill that woman one day for what she did to him. He would make sure of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Part of the Game

**Author's Note:**

> If you don't like Agent South, that's fine. Please do not leave flames in the reviews though because some people do happen to like her. Thank you.
> 
> Also, I haven't watched RvB in ages (I'm a sinner, I know!) but I hope this comes out alright anyway. I had a weird compulsion to write it one night.

She was sitting there, all deadly elegance and graceful poise, with an expression of bored indulgence written across her slim, angular face. Her eyes, heavy with eyeliner that made her transparent cool blue eyes stand out even more, were distant and unseeing. Her multicolored hair, with its dyed ends and flayed tips had been poorly tamed and the little "wings" as so dubbed by her twin brother stuck out from amongst the longer platinum blonde strands. Every now and then a chuckle would issue forth from her mouth or a loud caustic laugh but other than that she was silent, ill-suited to the part she was playing.

And that part just happened to be his fiancé.

Agent Washington frowned, his stern brown eyes trained on his partner. This was an undercover op and it was crucial that they succeeded, which was why he couldn't fathom why the Director had up and paired him with her of all the agents—her! Agent South Dakota! The one who shot first and didn't ask questions later. The one who didn't care whose heart she stepped on on her way to power. The one who would share a drink with you one night and then turn around and hold a knife to your throat. The one who he had had…special…dealings with. In retrospect, perhaps it was because they had a history they had been sent on the mission together. He knew her ticks, knew her mannerisms and little habits. Heck, he knew her better than her own twin brother did probably.

Another forced laughed left her red painted lips and he couldn't help but sigh and look down at the drink in his hand, swishing its contents in agitation. She was going to get their cover blown, she really was. The way she talked, or rather, didn't talk, the way her smile didn't reach her eyes, the way her body moved, not in intrigue but rather in a repositioning way to get a tactical advantage…everything about her screamed SOLDIER! SOLDIER!

Wash (as she liked to call him) hoped that perhaps only he could see the falseness in her act, the deception in her body language. He'd had many hours to learn her little gestures and quirks and the people around them couldn't tell them apart from any other rich couple so maybe, just maybe, they could get away with it. Maybe.

The group she was sitting with burst into a round of applause as the man sitting a seat to South's left, their target for the evening, finished telling some no doubt outlandish tale. He was a fine looking man, if Wash did say so himself; clean-cut, black hair that was starting to gray, a youthful and vigorous energy about his fit body, and crystal clear diamond blue eyes. Oh yes, he was quite the specimen.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw South glance his way, her haunting eyes searching his face for something, before she added her slow clap to the noise. She leaned forward just a tiny bit, exposing her top a bit more to the man she was supposed to seduce that evening.

Wash couldn't help as his eyes traveled across her skin, mentally feeling its smoothness beneath his rough palms. How many times had he seen her back arch in pleasure? How many times had she teasingly opened her jumpsuit and exposed her cleavage? The outfit she was wearing now, a glittering dark purple gown that was open in the back and exposed more of her chest than he was comfortable with, was perfect for eliciting desires in men of all ages and Wash couldn't help the flash of irritation and irate jealousy as the evening's target took full notice of the suppleness of the curious woman two seats away from him.

It had been like that all day really, ever since the two had arrived at the fancy hotel located on some planet far from their home base. South was something else, that much he could admit with a clear and honest mind, and could easily arouse attention from both men and women alike—men lusted after her beauty and women envied her for it.

Her eyes slid back his way and this time he caught and help them for a moment. Something she saw must have amused her, because in the next instant a wicked smile had found its way across her striking features and she was reaching a white gloved hand in the direction of her target. Wash frowned. She was teasing him.

The man jumped slightly, startled by the sudden contact but his body relaxed instantly when he saw who it was—the minx in the purple with the multi-colored hair. How charming. Charming indeed.

Wash found himself grinding his teeth, his hand firmly clenched around the glass in his hand. There was a small give and he looked down, not surprised to find that he had gripped the thing so hard that there was a crack in it. With a reckless abandon that usually did not accompany his actions when drinking fine, expensive wine, he threw back his head and downed the liquid, letting it burn down his throat and set his belly on fire. He threw South another quick look before deciding to go get another drink; she would be fine without him for now. What did she need him around for anyway? He was probably cramping her style, unless…

A sudden thought crossed his mind and a scowl crept across his face. Turning around, he walked quickly away to the bar area.

His heart was now on fire as well as his throat and stomach, all the negative emotions known to mankind rampaging through his veins and making a devil out of him. He didn't feel love or any such noble emotion but rather lust, envy, hate, rage. It was very unbecoming for someone like him, it was extremely unbecoming for a soldier on a mission.

She was using him, he could see it now. She was playing the soon-to-be-married woman that was off limits and untouchable yet so open and willing to be touched all the same. She wanted to add a little spice to the event, get her twisted kicks and grins. She wanted the target to think she was something that he couldn't have, but that he had to have, and she was not above using Wash to achieve her goal. Her little looks, glances, everything she threw his way had two meanings to it, the first being to draw in her target's attention and the second being to make Wash mad with emotions that he did not want to deal with.

It was a dangerous game she was playing, something that she no doubt knew. She was playing with fire and hoping that it'd burn itself out before shots rang and blood soaked through a crisp white dress shirt.

Perhaps the worst part about it was that she was going to get away with this little act of hers. Wash could complain all he liked to the Director, but South could always counter that it was something she had to do for the mission, that she was putting herself, her body, in danger all for the sake of achieving their goal. Whether the Director believed her or not wouldn't matter; as long as the goal was achieved and no one was alerted everything would be fine and South would move up a rank while Wash was left to fume in silent agony.

The desperate man motioned for another drink, the bartender eyeing his slowly cracking glass but saying nothing. Wash appreciated it; he wasn't in the mood for words and the bartender, a middle-aged man with graying brown hair, much like Wash himself, no doubt had had years to perfect his ability to read his patrons and knew that the well-built man with anger in his eyes and rage in his veins was best left to his own infernal devices.

Wash drank the vile liquid quickly, the bartender refilling it the second Wash held it out for him. This process went on for about ten minutes, until Wash had reached the limit between tipsy and drunkenness. His anger simmered and burned even hotter—that woman! Only she could do this, drive him to such ends. He hadn't taken his eyes off of her the entire time he had been drowning his frustrations in alcohol and it had only served to further his unquenchable rage. Only she could make him drink his mind away, even on a mission as vital as this one. Only she could tease and taunt, infuriate and soothe, intoxicate and confuse.

He laughed a little, leaning forward while resting his back against the counter the bartender stood behind. The sound was sharp and malicious, dark and disturbing. He felt like he was going mad, and all because of one damn woman!

His laughter began to increase in volume and he bent over as if in pain—and in a sense, he was in pain. He ran his free hand through his thick hair, wishing suddenly that he was younger, richer, that he was the very man whose life they were supposed to end. Anything, if only he could get her to look at him! To pay attention! To hear his named called out in that rough voice of hers, not his agent name, but his real name, David. Gods above, was he drunk, not on wine but on the devil herself.

Wash suddenly became aware of the loud sputtering that passed as demented laughing leaving his thin lips. He glanced up to see South eyeing him, angry with him, as several people around him had begun to take notice of his bizarre behavior. Wash couldn't help but feel a moment of triumph. Good! Let them stare! Let them whisper! Let them wonder why on earth such a lovely creature as the lady in purple would pick such a harsh, sharp man as he. Let them talk!

His eyes connected with hers—translucent blue and steel gray—and words unspoken passed between them. There was a silent battle of wills, Wash struggling to maintain his defenses against her impenetrable gaze. Not a single sole in the bar could possible fathom the hurt, the torment that she was putting him through. He needed things from her, things that were unspeakable. He needed her to stop what she was doing, he needed her to let go of his soul and give him back his heart. He needed her to give him back his ability to feel love, to long not just for the pleasures but for genuine caring affection.

After a tense minute, the battle was over. South smiled in satisfaction and got up to go God knows where. Wash slumped back against the bar again, exhausted with his endeavors yet also satisfied. He had not won but he had not lost either. They had stalemated as they usually did; it was as if they were locked in an eternal dance that would only be ended by the death of both of them, for Wash was sure that even if she were to die she would still have her talons lodged in his innards, plucking him apart piece by piece.

Not surprisingly, the man that South had been flirting with got up after a few minutes and went off in the direction South had gone, feeding his other guests some lie so they would not expect what he was really going to do. The guests, too caught up in trying to outdo each other, paid him no mind and waved him off. Wash could practically hear the click click of his expensive black dress shoes against the marble floor, even though he was several feet away and the chatter of a few dozen people surrounded the soldier.

Wash waved for another drink, this time sipping carefully after it had been filled.

Oh yes, the man was going to his doom. It was the only thing that Wash could take solace in right then, the fact that soon South would be plunging her knife into his warm chest or perhaps giving him a kiss with poisonous lips. Wash raised his eyebrows. It would probably be the latter, attributed to food poisoning no doubt in the morning, all traces of South washed from his lips before they were done doing what they did. Hopefully South would not let him get too far; she did like to play with her prey after all…

The thought of South taking off her dress, of slipping off her gloves, of placing her lips on his, of her doing any of the things she did to him to another man almost made Wash retch. He was torn between the thrill of getting the job done much more smoothly than he had imagined and the need to vomit the contents of his stomach. He was looking forward to the afterglow of the party, not that he would be spending it with the rest of the guests but rather in much smaller, cramped quarters, but was not looking forward to wondering just where she had been touched by him, just where his hands had gone…tracing along her collarbone, teasing, testing…

Wash tilted his head and swallowed the rest of his drink, smiling when he was done.

Oh, he was going to kill that woman one day for what she did to him. He would make sure of it.


End file.
